Perfect

Before I start, I have to confess that Rachel Joyce's hit novel, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, is one that hasn't made it onto my to-read so I can't make comparisons. Which is probably no bad thing. I opened Perfect with no preconceptions and I was greeted with a haunting tale of class, broken dreams and how the course of our lives can change in the blink of an eye.

The thrust of the action takes place in 1972, where public schoolboy Byron Hemming is informed by his friend James that two seconds are going to be added onto time. This idea deeply troubles Byron, and a course of events and the two seconds result in an accident when his mother, taking a route through the undesirable part of town, knocks a girl off her bike.

These two seconds result in the unraveling of Byron's life as he knows it. His mother, Diana, changes before his eyes from a perfect housewife in a 1950s timewarp, threatening the security he has always known. She becomes friends with the working class mother of the child injured in the accident (although I doubt this accident actually happened and instead was a figment of Byron's imagination). Diana's transformation unleashes insecurity in her husband, convinced he is losing his grip on the wife he transformed from prostitute's daughter and stage performer to middle class housewife. His perfectly groomed house becomes a mess as his mother abandons domesticity.

I found Byron's innocence and the simplicity of his emotions as the veneer of his family's background cracks heartbreaking. Class is all around and constraining, crushing Diana's free spirit. Byron adores but does not understand his mother, placing her on a pedestal and is confused as her true self is set free. For me, this is Diana's tale and all I wanted was for her to be well and to be free. The ending for their tale moved me and stayed with me long after reading.

There was a second strand to this tale, focusing in the future with a troubled man named Jim who works in a cafe following a stint in a mental health facility. I just couldn't get into this part of the tale and I felt it added a slightly predictable element to a story that's otherwise full of surprises. Other than this, I felt this was a dark, haunting tale of family life, and definitely one to lose yourself in on a bleak January morning.

(Available in hardback, paperback and Kindle edition from Amazon)

The Summer We All Ran Away

Looking back I can't quite remember what caught my eye about Cassandra Parkin's debut novel. I guess the title captured a certain end of season whimsy that echoed my own memories of the fast fading summer as the leaves turn golden on the trees. Whatever it was, I'm glad I did, as this proved a great read with accomplished story telling - I was truly gripped from the off.

Parkin's tale begins with Davey, a teenage runaway drunkenly making his way somewhere, anywhere, away from his past. Somehow, he finds himself in a secluded house in the West Country, living with three others also sheltering from their past. He is welcome to stay as long as he likes, where the only rule seems to be to not ask any questions about how the others got to where they are.

His story is juxaposed with that of Jack, a rock star trying to recover from his demons, hiding away in the same house in the seventies. He meets Mathilda, a young actress. From these beginnings, Parkin dips in and out of their stories, taking lots of different strands and eventually pulling them all together to make sense in the final few pages.

As the book progresses, we start to learn what the four housemates - Davey, Priss, Tom and Kate - together, and what they have all run from. The present day tale centres around the two teenagers, Priss and Davey, as they seek answers. For me, the most compelling part was Davey's story as he attempts to conquer his demons. As his tale unfurls it's clear he's a resilient young man with a distance still to travel, adding a great coming of age element.

This was a very atmospheric read, full of wist and promise. It was indeed very different, but the familiar themes of abandonment and the quest of belonging was told in a masterful style. I found myself whizzing through this book and was definitely sad to reach the end of my hidden haven at the end of a commute. An unusual read, but definitely worth a dabble.

(Available in Kindle format or paperback from Amazon)

Who Will Run The Frog Hospital?

I've mentioned before my penchant for a sad tale. So, in seeking inspiration for a tale of heartbreak, I Googled this very theme and the title that caught my eye was this one by Lorrie Moore. Although I'm not sure it met my initial brief (my heartstrings were left largely untugged), I did find this an intriguing tale of growing up and growing apart.

Berie Carr is grown up now, visiting Paris with her husband and some very large alarm bells sounding to the reader as regards the health of her marriage. While there, she reflects on a friendship lost and takes us back to a summer back in 1972 where, on the cusp of womanhood, events see the beginning of the end of her close bond with childhood friend, Silsby.

I felt Moore captured beautifully those heady days of adolescent summers and the intensity of teenage female friendships. It's difficult to read this book and not reflect back on your own schooldays, feeling the pinch of regret at losing touch with those you never questioned as being part of your everyday life. There is little dialogue in this book, more just the narrative of Berie's reflections as she recounts the moments, small at the time, which unleash a chain of events that separate and part; at first the break is dramatic, but then the drift sets in and the subtle changes occur to make their worlds very different.

The bittersweet tone was this novel's strength; however, I wasn't totally convinced by the overall flow. I don't think the reflections from modern day Paris were particularly coherent with the rest of the narrative or really added much; in places, I felt the modern day parts got in the way of the story's progression. I also felt the characters shifted a little too much towards the end, particularly Silsby; the girl the adult Berie described wasn't a convincing reflection of the grown up version she reveals later on.

I've read some reviews of this since which have suggested it would have been better as a short story rather than a short novel and I can't help but agree. As a wistful reflection on innocence lost and how people change over time, this was a great read. I'm not convinced, however, it was at its strongest as a short novel as I felt there was some padding out with the Parisian sections especially. Still, if you feel like stirring some memories of those lost summers of youth and reflecting on those friends from yesteryear, this isn't a bad book to trigger that. Plus I guess it's not a bad thing it wasn't too heartbreaking; there's nothing worse than trying to stifle a tear-y moment when packed in on public transport...

(Available from Amazon)

Amity & Sorrow

When an author describes her novel as a tale of "God, sex and farming", it's hard to know what to expect. Having weighed this up against all the buzz that's been surrounding it, I delved in.

I wasn't disappointed.

Amity & Sorrow is an exciting read and instantly you're plunged into the action as mother Amaranth and daughters Amity and Sorrow speed away from all the girls have known. The urgency of their escape is slowly revealed through cleverly interwoven flashbacks to their time as first wife and eldest daughters in a polygamous cult. We follow them as they settle on a farm (some better than others) run by a lonely abandoned husband, living with his adopted son and elderly father, with a mixture of fear and hope that they would be found.

Peggy Riley's characters are brilliantly crafted and immediately credible. Amaranth tries to right the mistakes that has seen her children grow up without knowledge of the world. This ignorance, designed to protect them, has corrupted them in ways that Amaranth could never have foreseen. I loved the characters of both sisters too; Amity, apparently blessed with healing powers and open-minded to a new life, and reluctant Sorrow, stubborn and longing for her old existance with an increasingly terrifying ferocity.

The creation and collapse of Amaranth's idyll is recounted and the consequences seen in the damage done to her daughters. There are parallels with the life of farmer Bradley as he seeks to keep his farm afloat and is alone, and offers the family kindness even in the face of Sorrow's destruction.

Riley's creation is a masterful one. She crafts great villains whilst also offering hope; darkness is never far from light. The novel's themes are powerful and gritty and elements of it are disturbing. Amity & Sorrow isn't a light read, but is all the more rewarding for it. With strong links to the Branch Davidians and frequent references to Waco, this is a cautionary (rather than sensationalist) tale of how power and greed corrupts, as well as a fascinating view of one family's escape from the sinister grip of a polygamous cult.

This was a really enjoyable, thought-provoking book. For me it definitely lived up to the hype and was one that made me groan at the end of my commute when I had to stop reading for a while. I would warn that it's not necessarily for the faint-hearted, but is rewarding nonetheless.

(Available from Amazon)

Life After Life

Life After Life comes with an intriguing premise. A baby is born in a snowy February in 1910. She dies at birth. In the next chapter, she is given another chance and survives; the reader then follows the child, Ursula, as she grows up before, between and during the World Wars, with a unique gift. She can go back and correct her mistakes, dying then starting again.

I've read several reviews of this now, mulling over how my thoughts compare. I was encouraged to pick this up after seeing adverts and reviews for it everywhere. Now having read it, I think my conclusion is that I liked it, but only loved it in parts.

The story is complex and Kate Atkinson's writing is clever and flowing. Metaphors of darkness and light pervade and a real sense of foreboding exists. Some sections are brilliant, such as when Ursula is battling to prevent the death of her, her brother and her maid from Spanish Flu. The repeating and thwarting of her efforts add an almost comic twist. However, some sections I found slightly laboured, such as Ursula's time with Eva Braun and Hitler as the continent inches towards war.

Overall, I think this was a great mind-twisting journey. Throughout the story you question what is real, and even when the worst happens you have hope that Ursula can reset and have a happier life. Characters die and are then brought to life. I also loved the sense of familial love at the heart of the novel, and it helped add grounding and a sense of reality. The character of Ursula changed and adapted as she subconsciously learnt from her errors in her parallel lives. The result is a character you wish the best for, but also she is not the same person from one segment to another. The constant characters of her siblings and parents help anchor the story and attach Ursula to each of her lives.

I do think this is a book worth reading; I suspect it's not worth reading in the way that I did. As the title of this blog suggests, I do most of my reading on my commute. I don't think this is a book designed for this purpose. I often found myself a bit confused when opening at the beginning of my journey and having to flick back a few pages to remind myself. The sense of deja vu which facilitates the central premise just makes the tale a bit confusing when you are reading at the extremities of your day. Perhaps if I'd read it over a weekend it would've been different. Instead, I often found myself a bit disorientated, and at the end I felt I'd been reading Ursula's saga for a very long time.

This is definitely a clever, interesting read; just perhaps not one for the rush hour.

(Available in hardback or Kindle format from Amazon)

The Shock of the Fall

Sometimes it's hard to truly capture how you feel a book. For me this applies to The Shock of the Fall, and I hope I do it justice. So here goes...

I'd heard great things about this title, so was excited to download it from NetGalley ahead of the UK publication date. I wouldn't quite call this a story; more a portrait of a very vulnerable young man. Following the childhood death of his brother, The Shock of the Fall is in parts the coming of age tale of Matthew, a teenage schizophrenic, but mainly a chronicle of his descent into mental illness.

Nathan Filer's style is no holds barred but also full of charm. Matt is charismatic and Filer's style is a masterful combination of coherent and chaotic. The latter captures Matt's desperate state of mind as he recounts his thoughts via the computer in his day centre, or at his typewriter in his lonely flat. The former is cleverly achieved to weave the tale of Matt's background into the narrative of someone battling mental illness.

This is very much a character-led piece. The reader inhabits Matt's world, seeing what he sees, including the schizophrenic visions of his deceased brother. Filer's approach is subtle and his experience in mental health nursing shines through to create a heart-renderingly beautiful portrait of an unwell mind. The scenes in which Simon, his brother, keeps appearing were particularly well done and moving. During Matt's 18th birthday, he describes how "everyone broke out in a loud chorus of Happy Birthday. Simon joined in too. He was in the flames. Of course he was in the flames. A nurse quickly grabbed hold of my wrist, leading me quickly to the cold tap. I had no idea what I had done, only that I had been trying to hold him".

In a society where mental illness remains something of a taboo and too often hysterical in its portrayal, Filer has provided a strong and sympathetic voice in Matthew. He creates sympathy and pathos for what he sees and feels, as his treatment makes him lose his brother all over again. You want nothing more than for him to get better, but this is a realistic portrayal of an illness that won't be simply cured.

So would The Shock of the Fall make a good rush hour read? I found it a very compelling book and a very honest account of grief, loss and mental illness. Its themes are more heavy ones, but despite this it's highly readable and impressive. In my view this is a brilliantly different and important piece of writing and a real privilege to read. It shows strong promise as a debut and I can't wait for more from this author!

(Released on the 23rd May 2013. Available for pre-order via Harper Collins or Amazon)

The Death of Bees

"Today is Christmas Eve. Today is my birthday. Today I am fifteen. Today I buried my parents in the backyard. Neither of them were beloved."

And so begins The Death of Bees. This beginning (along with the opening chapters' gruesome detail on the disposal of said parents' bodies) suggested this novel should have been somewhat shocking. Set in a Glasgow council estate, sisters Marnie and Nelly have grown up with addicts; drugs, abuse and alcoholism are part of their norm. Yet, despite these heavy themes, The Death of Bees had me gripped from the beginning.

Told through a series of short chapters, we shift perspectives between Marnie, Nelly and their elderly neighbour Lennie. They are a diverse set of characters; Marnie is tough, streetwise and academically gifted. Her narration is often cold, her hard exterior masking how desperately underloved and abandoned she has been. Nelly is different; a gifted violinist, she talks like something out of a Bette Davis film, and her innocence masks the horror of her life so far.

After trying to cope on their own, the sisters begin to forge a close bond with neighbour Lennie; mourning the loss of his lover, he relishes the opportunity to look after the girls and have company again. He is cultured and shows them a kindness they have never known. However, their arrangement is threatened by the appearance of the sisters' sinister grandfather, desperate to know the whereabouts of his daughter, as well as a local drug dealer owed money by their father, and Lennie's dog's habit of digging up bones from under the lavender bush...

As mentioned earlier, there are so many issues crammed into this novel; addiction, abuse, abandonment, sexuality and underage sex amongst others. Lisa O'Donnell, however, shows real skill in not trivialising the issues, but not allowing the story to become bogged down in them. This is a tale about survival and the importance of love and kindness. As a result, the issues they face are obstacles they overcome, and the outcome is a powerfully uplifting read which serves a slice of (not always comfortable, but always true) real life.

This is a gritty, truly unique read and one I flew through. I was so disappointed whenever my commute ended and I had to put this one away; thank goodness for the weekend when I could finish it in one sitting! This is a fantastic debut and one I cannot rave about enough. Lisa O'Donnell has masterfully created a world of cruelty where kindness wins through. Every character is perfect and form a cast you can't forget. It's a definite must read, and a great addition to any commute.

(Available in paperback and Kindle edition at Amazon)

Infinite Sky

I've mentioned before I like a bit of a morbid read. The prologue to Infinite Sky promises this with gusto; Iris, our heroine, is at the funeral of a 15-year-old boy. Her devastation is piqued by the question, "is it possible to keep loving somebody when they kill someone you love?". So begins the tale of woe, with echoes of a 21st century Juliet and her Romeo.

This opening is a delicious teaser for the reader, casting a shadow throughout the story as you try and guess who will end up the boy whose "coffin's the same size as a man's would be". Iris will soon be in mourning, but is it for her wayward brother Sam, or her first love, Trick? Readers expectations are set and, in this exciting debut, C.J. Flood quickly guides us into the summer that changed Iris' life forever.

Iris is a country girl, her mother having recently left to find herself in Tunisia. Since she left their house is chaotic (wonderfully symbolised by the choice of Fiasco for the name of their dog); their family is struggling to adjust. It is at this time a group of gypsies move into their paddock. Her father is enraged, predicting trouble and planning to evict them from his land. However, Iris is intrigued by their lifestyle, which parallels with the one her mother has left them for. In particular, she is intrigued by their son Trick, and the two form a close friendship. Iris falls for him, the only person who seems to listen to her apart from her distant mother on the end of a phone line.

Against the backdrop of a beautiful summer, Iris struggles to maintain order as her father fails to retain control of his family. As a result of his guard dropping, Sam goes off with the wrong crowd and becomes increasingly troubled while Iris spends time with Trick. The siblings' separate rebellions come to a crashing and gripping conclusion; although I knew this was coming, I was absorbed and shocked in equal measure.

I really enjoyed Iris' voice as narrator. On the cusp of adulthood, she is struggling to find who she really is (as seen in her realistically tumultuous relationship with shallow best friend Matty). She still views the world with a childlike innocence that allows her to step away from the prejudices of her father and brother. Her naivety prevents the story from becoming a debate about the rights and wrongs of the Traveller lifestyle, nor a caricature. It is a simple, moral tale of the destruction wrought when hatred pervades. Iris and Trick have much in common, but as the worlds into which they are born and the suspicion their families have for each other align, their fate can only lead in one direction.

This is a story where nobody is blameless. Funeral scene aside, it's not overly sentimental; the strength of C.J. Flood's writing is in it's subtlety and simplicity. No comment is needed, no thread is left loose. You sympathise with every character, despite their wrongs. The themes in the tale are as old as time, but Flood's echoes of Montague and Capulet and the end of innocence provide a fantastic read. A powerful, punchy and thought-provoking book, I'd definitely recommend popping this in your handbag to see you through the rush hour.

(Available in hardback, paperback, audio and Kindle edition from Amazon)

The Universe versus Alex Woods

Sometimes, you want to like a book so much. Everything about it sounds like something you'd enjoy. It has recognition too, a bit of buzz which tempts you to try it.

This was why I decided to read The Universe versus Alex Woods. One of the Waterstones 11, I was between books and suggestible. I began the first chapter and was optimistic; Gavin Extence's beginning convinced me that this was one I wanted to see through, with tension and intrigue from page one. I couldn't wait to find out what happened.

Unfortunately, I just didn't get on very well with Alex Woods after this.

There were definite signs of promise. The story was event-led at the beginning, from Alex's arrest as a 17-year-old to the incident when he was hit by a meteor fragment in his younger years. This episode changed the course of his life, putting him a year behind his peers at school and causing his epilepsy. Alex is an outsider, and his struggle was proving an interesting tale.

Then Alex meets Mr Peterson, and starts to grow up. The elderly Vietnam veteran becomes his closest friend. So close that, when the pair receive some bad news, Alex realises how far he'll go to help his friend fulfil his wishes.

For me, the book was quite inconsistent. It felt there were distinct segments of the novel; Alex's youth and distance from his peers felt very different from the section where he forms a close bond with Mr Peterson. How they fused together was a struggle for me. At one point I actually forgot the bit about meteors had any relation to the bits where Alex and Mr Peterson are on their final journey, and too many bits had happened between the first chapter and the loop it fills at the end.

I also didn't particularly believe the characters, nor warm to them. Alex's naivety at the beginning did not wash for me later in the story. It's proven to readers that Alex is clearly very well read, but has what felt like silly gaps in his knowledge of culture. For example, when he is in a hotel described as having art deco interiors, there is an apparent need for him to narrate, "art deco turned out to be the name of the strange modern-antique style of furniture in the rooms". It felt unnecessary and just irritated me. Similarly, Alex feels the need to tell us "I hadn't read War and Peace, but I understood what Mr Peterson meant: War and Peace was extraordinarily long". Again, this just felt needless.

Other characters in the story just felt like a collection of stereotypes. No nonsense, pacifist war vet Mr Peterson. "Out there" witch mum. Feisty swearing teen Ellie. You get the picture. There was a bit more depth in the last section; but at this stage I was just focused on finishing and getting to my next book.

It's a real shame as I wanted to like this title. It has great reviews on Goodreads and Amazon, so perhaps it's just me and I didn't get it. On the basis of this I'd say give it a try; it just really wasn't for me. Not my favourite rush hour read I'm afraid.

Genie and Paul

If I had to liken this novel to anything it would be a snowball in motion. The story starts rolling on a seemingly gentle slope with two episodes; in the aftermath of a cyclone a young boy's new friend washes up on a distant shore. Six weeks prior, Genie awakes in a London hospital, abandoned by her brother. Natasha Soobramanien then slowly increases the incline as the tale of the titular siblings unfurls to its dramatic conclusion.

This is a unique book, and one I quickly came to love. In a loose reworking of Bernardin de Saint Pierre's Paul et Virginie, Genie and Paul are siblings struggling to reconcile love, identity and family against their shared, but different, backgrounds.

Soobramanien is a fantastic talent and I loved the simplicity of both her prose and the messages at the heart of this book. Genie's unconditional love for her brother sees her travelling across continents, forgiving him beyond expectations. Meanwhile, Paul seeks out the land of his childhood memories, a land that has changed to the point of no longer existing outside Paul's recollection, and sets off on a doom-riddled road to fulfil his quest. Along the way we meet a range of characters who provide their perspectives in short chapters that almost felt like police evidence statements. This worked brilliantly in moving on the story, particularly in Genie's sections, as I felt like I was gathering the clues with her and finding out the story as she did.

Although this book straddles locations (Mauritius, Rodrigues and London), familiarity with any of these places is not necessary to enjoy this book. Themes of family and identity, of love and loss, are unquestionably universal and Soobramanien is masterful in creating a raw tale which not only made me think but saw me scrabbling back through my Kindle to re-read and re-capture the best bits. The prologue is definitely worth a read after the final page as your impression will completely change.

Initially I was unsure how this would be as a Tube read. Being greeted with dense text on opening a book usually means difficulty in the necessary dipping in and out commuting demands. I'm glad I was proven wrong. Easy to read with beautiful turns of phrase, I know this book will stay with me for some time.

(Image taken from http://www.goodreads.com/book/photo/15755794-genie-and-paul)

This Is How You Lose Her

I adored this book, and felt genuinely sad when I reached the final pages. Love, loss and regret are the strands which pull it all together, and the consequences of the decisions and mistakes we make are at its heart.

Although its stories focus on Dominican communities in the US, the pain and experiences its characters face are universal and what make it so compelling a read. Díaz's touch is subtle and he hints at the layers his characters possess without detailing them. Take Yunior, for instance; he clearly has a fascinating back story and has achieved great things in his life in the US. Our focus, however, is on his peccadilloes, his attitude and treatment of the women in his life, and how these mistakes leave him alone.

Although the treatment of some female characters by males leaves a lot to be desired, strong females do emerge. Miss Lora, for example, stood out for her differences and independence; Otravida, Otravez was also a welcome break from the male dominated voices that fill the pages of this novel.

Most of the tales focus around love and carnal relationships, but what really gives this book its soul are the stories which serve as background to why Yunior has become the character we see, and fallen into the ways he's observed and disliked in others. Yunior and Rafa as boys and their relationship with their parents was touching. Family moulds us, and all could share the frustrations of willing a happy ending for Rafa while also cursing his behaviour towards his mother.

The format of this novel lent itself very well to a commuting read. The structure of several stories, jumping across time but all linked together, made it easy to follow and dip into; Díaz's compelling dialogue, meanwhile, swallows you up and takes you away, making you wish for more. I'd definitely recommend this to help pass those tedious train hours.

(Available in paperback, hardback, audio and Kindle from Amazon)